JOY

1 a: the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires : delight

What do you think of when you hear the word joy?  Do you have a mental picture that personifies joy? When I think of joy, I get two images.  One is of a person standing in the rain, arms stretched out, face up to catch the raindrops, laughing.  She may be wet, but her joy is not dampened.  The second image is of a person getting on in years - her hair is silver, her face creased.  But she is engaged and interested in those around her, listening intently, delighting at each new thing she sees, hears or experiences.  Laughter comes quickly to her and she nods along eagerly as others share their life and views with her.

For a while now, I've thought joy isn't really something for me.  Last fall, I went away for a weekend to hear Richard Rohr and Russ Hudson talk about Grace and the Enneagram.  As I was preparing to leave for that, I was thinking about two other women in my life that are also Enneagram Nines.  I could see some similarities between each of them and me, but they are both funny, lighthearted people in a way that I am not.  I shared this observation with a friend during the conference and was able to articulate that I feel like I'll never be able to be joyful - I'm just too scarred, too wounded to ever recover the joy you see readily flash on the faces of children.  I cried as I told her this, both out of sadness for this thing I do not have and out of fear that I am not worthy of joy.

Before Lent, I was talking with a friend who said she longs for joy.  She longs to enjoy her children more, to delight in them and alongside them.  To this end, her Lent was about learning to stop at regular intervals in her day.  She was learning to make space for joy.  

I don't actively long for joy like this friend of mine.  If anything, I long for peace and contentment, things which I suspect are vague shadows of joy.  I settle for these rather than risk seeking the real thing and falling short.  Yet I think peace and contentment are companions on the road to joy because I envision joy as more pervasive, more persistent, less mutable than happiness.  I imagine joyful people have an inner peace and contentment that their circumstances can not ruffle and can not take away.

I picture joy as something nearly tangible, something you can grab and hold on to and feel it alongside you, underneath you, beside you.  And when I think of it this way, I wonder about how closely joy and the Holy Spirit are interconnected.  Because when I think of the Holy Spirit, it's as a swirling, comforting presence all around me.

The Holy Spirit is the aspect of the Trinity that I most long to be like.  I don't want the responsibility or inspired devotion of God the Father.  Nor do I long to be the ever present teacher that Jesus is.  But a soft, encouraging presence that points others to God, to truth, to beauty?  These are traits I want to embody.

Last night as we sat around the dinner table, we discussed the transition from Lent to Eastertide.  We talked about what we learned during Lent and what we hoped to delight in during Easter.  I asked these questions before fully thinking through my own answers to them, so it wasn't until later that I realized that while my Lent did not go as expected, I did make very real progress towards beginning to identify the desires of my heart.  And if joy is evoked by the prospect of possessing what one wants, perhaps this is a good first step towards joy.

Easter day did leave me feeling oddly lighthearted - not as a result of any one experience but from thinking about a series of small truths seen together: truths like the realization that love must be very strong indeed to have defeated death and that our biggest blessings often come just from lingering near God, not from any activity on our part.

Maybe this is how joy is found - by following the trail of breadcrumbs God leaves for us, each one leading us closer and closer to the realization of how much He loves us and how immutable that love is.  Because when we grasp that His love for us cannot and will not change, joy is the only possible response.

UNMET

: my expectations for Lent

In almost every way, this Lent has not been what I expected.  That began early, when the timing of Lent snuck up on me and I didn't feel led towards a specific, easily enforceable discipline.  Instead of something straightforward like, "Give up caffeine," or "Walk every day," or even "Pray the hours," I felt a need to open myself and be receptive to the idea of being led daily to the well I needed to drink from.  This idea was a little scary to me, but I wanted to be responsive and receptive, even in my fear.  So I was blindsided, hurt and left reeling when I posted about Lent and received a snarky comment about Lent being a time for penitence.  The implication was that my discipline of seeking creative and restorative outlets was selfish and inappropriate.  That, combined with a reticence on God's part to direct me, left me stumbling through Lent rather than following along, walking near Jesus' side.

Perhaps the stumbling along can be traced back to the first whisper I heard to write during Lent.  Because I have done many things over the last forty days, but very little writing.  Taking a step away from writing has been somewhat unintentional,  yet I've been aware of the slippage and allowed it to happen.  Like a workout routine left undone for too long, it became easier and easier to not write.  I certainly had plenty of other things to fill my time and my soul gradually quieted and stopped asking questions that needed to be processed in writing.

But even as that form of communication quieted, longer form writing ideas pursued me - everything from an idea for a novel to an idea for a children's book series.  I have not written one word towards giving birth to either of these ideas, yet they circle in my mind and leave me fearful and frozen.  That's what fear does to me - it freezes me.  My mental and physical muscles clench and I feel unable to fight or flee, regardless of what they tell you adrenaline is for.  So the blog sits for days, then weeks and my writing muscles atrophy, then stop even asking for the release of exercise.  Thankfully, it was in just such a moment of fear induced frostbite that I went on silent retreat.

The Ghosts of Leah and Rachel

As my retreat began, Leah kept circling in my mind.  Maybe you've heard of her?  She's the one who married Jacob, when he intended to marry her sister, Rachel.  Her father tricked Jacob into marrying her, probably because he thought this was the only way he could marry her off.  Jacob never really loved Leah and I've always thought her story was a sad one.  She was on my mind because I had read about her in the Jesus Storybook Bible to my daughters.  Here's how her story ends in Sally Lloyd-Jones' rendition:

One of Leah's children's children's children would be a prince - the Prince of Heaven - God's Son.

This Prince would love God's people.  They wouldn't need to be beautiful for him to love them.  He would love them with all of his heart.  And they would be beautiful because he loved them.

Like Leah.

Leah wasn't loved because she was beautiful, she was beautiful because she was loved.  God blessed Leah in a way the world saw as blessing - he gave her children.  And not just children, but sons.  There was no greater gift, no more sought-after role than to give birth to sons.  But at first, Leah misinterprets God's blessings.  Each time she gives birth to a son, Leah thinks this will make Jacob love her.  She says, "God has seen my misery, now Jacob will love me (Reuben).  God has heard my cry, now Jacob will hear me (Simeon).  God has given me three sons, now Jacob will connect with me (Levi)."  And that does not happen. 

Jacob does not love her.

Not ever. 

But finally, Leah sees that someone does love her: God.  So when she gives birth to a fourth son, she says, "I will praise God (Judah)."

Judah is the line of Jacob's family that Jesus will be born into.  It's to a town of Judah that Mary will travel to give birth.  And Mary, like Leah is blessed by God.  But she's blessed in a way that the world would never, ever expect.  She's blessed with an out of wedlock baby, a son who leaves her to fulfill his ministry and who she ultimately watches die on the cross.  While Leah may have been blessed in a way the world acknowledged and valued, Mary's blessing from God was not what she - or anyone else - was expecting.

But both were blessed.  God loved Leah and Mary, even if the outward signs of his love were vastly different.

My expectations for Lent have gone mostly unmet this year.  I haven't felt closer daily to Jesus.  I haven't had an outpouring of creativity or seen with clarity a habit I need to break.  But even if my expectations have gone unmet, I have been met.  I've been met by the Holy Spirit, who hovers in and amidst my pain and confusion.  I've been met by Jesus when I've had the space and grace to invite him in.

I have been met with Leah and Mary and how their stories help me see my own story more clearly and more compassionately.

Whatever expectations, hopes and dreams you have that are unmet, may you meet Jesus, especially on this cold, dreary Easter weekend when we are reminded of how much we all need Him.  And may meeting Him propel you to action and move you out of the place of fear, than can keep us locked in and frozen.

TRUST

1 a : to place confidence : depend

Do you trust yourself?  When faced with a big or small decision, where do you turn?  A spouse?  A friend?  Or the small, quiet voice inside you?

Several years ago, I had a Christian friend tell me that she did not trust herself.  "My heart is sinful," she said, "I can't trust what it tells me."  I don't remember the circumstances she was facing, nor the decision she ultimately made.  What did stick with me was her assertion that trusting herself was wrong.  I didn't question her then, but I've come to not only question but ultimately reject the idea that I shouldn't trust myself.

In fact, one of the things God showed me this Lent was that I should listen to myself because I know more than I think I do.  I'm not saying I should always go with my gut instinct.  There are definitely times when my initial reaction is driven by untested emotions.  And the voice of shame lurks in my depths, surfacing every now and then to sabotage my efforts.  But I know the difference between those voices and the inner voice that I can trust.  That inner voice is, in all likelihood, a combination of the wisdom I've acquired over the years and the Holy Spirit, offering a wisdom I'll never earn, but which I try to receive with gratitude.

Learning to trust myself means learning to not listen to what the world or even my friends and family tell me is true.  Some of this is easy and clear.  Today, I was driving along the interstate with my daughters when 12 year old A saw a billboard and said, "Do better legs really equal a better life?  I don't think so."  We went on to have a great conversation about learning to listen to our hearts and minds instead of what advertising tells us.  And while I can pretty easily learn to distrust the idea that having some varicose veins removed will result in a better life, it's tougher to listen to my heart when it whispers, "Rest" and my daughter's school and my daughter's ballet schedule and our social calendar all say, "Go. Go. Go."

We are leaving for a family vacation one week from tomorrow.  There is a lot left to do to prepare for that - things like an oil change, a trip to the library to stock up, some hours devoted to cleaning so that we can return to a clean home.  There are end of year activities for K, a birthday party at the lake on Thursday and a van that needs to be packed and ready to go Friday morning.  The vacation itself (to Philadelphia) will bring historical highlights, great art, beautiful countryside and, hopefully, some rest.  The question I am currently asking my heart is, "What do I need to do to be ready for this trip?"  I don't just mean what lists do I need to make and complete, but how can I start rested and present and anticipatory, not stressed and panicked and drained.

A few things I know will help.  Read more.  Take a nap or two between now and next Friday.  Build down time into the family's vacation plans.  Know that things will not go as planned and be ready to receive what comes and let the rest go.  And trust myself - when I am tired, rest.  When I am intrigued, pause to learn more.  When I am hungry, have a cheesesteak.

LAPSE

1 a : a slight error typically due to forgetfulness or inattention

There has been a significantly longer than usual lapse in my blog posting.  While it hasn't been due to forgetfulness, it has been an exceptionally busy month.  Over the course of the last six weekends, I've hosted an Easter lunch and egg hunt, been a single parent while J went to Atlanta, managed volunteers for a dance recital and then a performance of Coppelia, attended a KY Derby party and hosted a prayer and planning day for homeschool moms.  Please stop to breathe now.  Like I said, it's been a bit busy around here.

Blogging hasn't been the only lapse.  There have been laundry pile-ups, lessons pushed from one day to another, prepared foods instead of homemade ones.  This week has brought a bit of breathing room.  Ballet is over (for a few weeks).  A & B's tutorial is over.  We have finished our math book, much to the delight of both teacher and students.  Instead of decimals and fractions, we are spending our time reading a classic book together and planning a family trip to Philadelphia.  The laundry is oh-so-momentarily done.  The weather is lovely and beckoning and I can't wait for summer to arrive with its gifts of time at the lake, sleeping in and Fun Jar activities.

Last week, as I was still feeling rocked by busy-ness, I went to my Wednesday evening Lectio Divina group.  While there, we read and contemplated the Mary and Martha passage in Luke.  I was struck by both my desire to be Mary (who sits at Jesus' feet instead of helping her sister) and my need to be Martha (who gets busy hosting Jesus and his disciples).  At this season in my life, I can't completely forsake either of these parts of myself.  The only wisdom I saw as I prayed was that there is great blessing in listening to my own heart.  It is a gift to myself and my family when I do what needs to be done but stop for rest and rejuvenation.  And the only way to know when one activity should yield to the other is to listen to what my heart is saying and go where it is leading me.

I can't promise there won't be another lapse in blogging - or in my thinking - or in my laundry processing.  In fact, I'm pretty sure those lapses will occur again.  But I hope I'll feel the freedom to stay in the moment and let my knowledge of my lapses slip through my fingers like grains of sand instead of smacking me in the face with shame.  Because we all make errors - we just don't have to let them define us.

EASTER

: a feast that commemorates Christ's resurrection and is observed with variations of date due to different calendars on the first Sunday after the paschal full moon

Today is the first day of Easter.  The first of fifty days that are about living out the lessons learned during Lent.  It's a mental adjustment for me to see Easter as a season and not a day.  It's more natural for me to see Lent or Advent as seasons, largely because they coincide with cultural or environmental seasons.  But the longer I participate in a church that follows a liturgical calendar, the more I feel the rightness and value of this deep within me. 

For Advent, Epiphany and Lent, I made journals to commemorate each season.  By the end of each season, I was sad for the season to end, sad to say goodbye to my current journal.  Yet each season has offered discrete and unique lessons.  Lessons that are held, documented and remembered in those journals.  Yesterday morning I created an Easter journal.  I'm sure by the time Pentecost arrives, I'll be sad to close this journal for the final time.

As I sat at our Maundy Thursday service, I had the thought that Easter is for listening.  I even contemplated putting that on the cover of the journal.  I pondered this for a few days as I picked the colors and papers for my journal.  As I planned the journal, I continued to think about listening.  Perhaps Lent was for listening, not Easter.  Then on Saturday morning I read this passage in Celtic Daily Prayer:

Let us do what our Lord did and rise early in the morning, whilst everything is at rest in silence and darkness, when sleep envelops everything in torpor, in profound quiet.  Let us rise and watch with God, lifting our hearts to Him, laying our souls at His feet, and at this early hour when intercourse is so secret and so sweet let us fall at His feet and enjoy converse with our Creator.  How good He is to let us come to His feet whilst all is sleeping.  Whilst all is sleeping in silence and shadow, let us begin both our day and our prayers.  Before our working day begins let us pass long hours praying at the feet of our Lord.

Yes, I think my Lent was for listening.  It would, in fact, make perfect sense for me to discover the meaning of Lent on the very last day of the season.  If there's one thing I've learned in my few years of observing Lent, it's that the season is rarely about what I think it's about on Ash Wednesday.  This year's Lenten vow of walking or running every morning was so far out of left field that I had no idea what it might be about.  As I told my counselor about it, she remarked, "I love that you don't see this as a way to lose weight.  That's not even on your radar as you approach this."  That continued to be the case throughout Lent. 

My morning ambulations were far more about spiritual growth than physical fitness.  I'm not a morning person, yet I found that once I was out of bed and on my way, walking was the perfect way to start my day.  I was able to be awake and alone for thirty or forty-five minutes without ever speaking aloud.  My mind was able to be quiet and receptive.  It was almost like I dreamed conversations with God on those morning walks.

Lent was about listening - and not only listening to God, but to my body and my soul.  I found out what clothing I like best on cool mornings, what to wear when it rains and that I need a new pair of shoes.  I found that quiet wakefulness can be more restful than a few minutes of extra sleep in the morning.

What will Easter be about?  Right now I'm not very sure.  I would like for Easter to be more active on my part than Lent has been.  I'd like to not just receive, but give.  I'd like to not just listen, but talk.  But I've been incredibly overwhelmed by life over the last ten days, so I'm not sure I'm in the position to offer much on my own.  In fact, that's another lesson I learned this Lent: I can do very little in my own power.  I can't even see my own sin without help, much less change and make myself more whole.  So whatever Easter is about, it will have to be about doing it in the resurrection power of Jesus, not the barely-holding-it together power of Shannon.

I've read that we Christians are Easter people.  It's what we celebrate on Easter morning, not Christmas morning, that sets us apart from others.  It's what was missing from that grave all those years ago that makes us able to live out of a power and peace that is not our own.  It's the fact that someone fully God and fully human once loved (and still loves) us enough to let that love take his life from him, but not defeat him in death.

I want to be an Easter person.  I want this season of my life to be one that sees me face life's uncertainties, challenges, joys, disappointments and surprises with peace, grace, humility and strength.  I want to be an Easter person.